Vicious Seduction

4

What the hell was wrong with me that I could be attracted to a man who’d just tried to take me as his prize for winning a game of cards? What was wrong with him that he’d think it was okay to even ask? Audacity wasn’t a strong enough word. He was nothing but a self-important, pretentious egomaniac with the arrogance of a career politician. That was more like it. As I followed Lawrence to the elevator, I had to fight the urge to stomp my feet. Rigid and distant, he was equally as perturbed by what had transpired. “The membership committee must have lost their damn minds,” he grumbled as we rode down the elevator. “But I admit that I’m mildly intrigued by the man.” I wasn’t surprised. Oran probably reminded him of himself twenty years earlier. “Who is he?” I’d been dying to ask earlier but never had the chance. “His family is the strongest contingency of Irish … businessmen in the city.” He held the elevator door for me to exit. Businessmen? Did he mean organized crime? Was Oran Irish Mafia? Jesus. This kept getting better and better. It was no wonder the man thought the rules didn’t apply to him. Although, that was true of most men at Olympus. When I thought about it, I wasn’t sure he was any different at all except for the label. Plenty of purportedly upstanding citizens were shady as hell. At least the Mafia didn’t pretend to be something they weren’t. I wanted to ask more questions but didn’t want to upset Lawrence. What I really needed to do was defuse the situation and focus on my own agenda. We walked to where Lawrence’s driver waited in a black Town Car. When Lawrence opened the back door for me, I faced him instead of getting in. I slowly ran my fingers down his lapel as if to straighten it, then peered up at him through my lashes. “I’m sorry the night didn’t go your way. I hate to leave you on a sour note.” Come on, Larry. Invite me back to your place. It’d been almost three months since we started seeing each other, and the man still hadn’t taken me home with him. In all honesty, he’d been a perfect gentleman, and it was driving me up a f*****g wall. Lawrence cupped my jaw with his hand, then swept his thumb slowly across my lips. I started to get excited that maybe we were finally getting somewhere, but then his face fell as if … disappointed? Why? I practically offered myself up on a silver platter. Did the little blue pill not work for him? What else could he possibly be disappointed about? “If you want to help, you could come to my place tomorrow sometime before nine. If I have to see the man again, at least I can remind him of what I have that he doesn’t.” Finally. A glint of hope that our relationship just might be progressing. It was the first sign I’d seen of Lawrence feeling possessive over me. “I’d be happy to.” I grinned up at him. “Can I bring you some coffee? Maybe a pastry?” “I start my day early, so that won’t be necessary. Now, get in the car before you freeze. I can’t have you getting sick.” I placed a quick kiss on his cheek, then did as he instructed. A few minutes later, he dropped me off in front of my apartment building. Or so he thought. It was the building I’d told him I lived in, but the truth was, I shared a much older, smaller apartment in an adjacent building. One that had yet to be renovated in an area quickly being gentrified into a thriving community. I waited in the lobby until the car was out of sight, then left the glitzy new construction and hurried across the street toward the old relic I called home. It wasn’t much to look at, but at least we had an elevator. A very old, sketchy elevator that smelled a little too much like urine for my liking. But when you lived on the eighth floor, you took what you could get so long as it wasn’t the stairs. “Honey, I’m home,” I called in a somewhat weary tone when I opened the door and saw Jessa cuddled up watching television. God, I was jealous. I would have given my left tit to have been in her comfy house shoes tonight rather than swimming with the sharks at Olympus. “How was your night?” she asked with a smile. “Better, I suppose.” “I can’t believe you’ve been seeing this guy for three months, and he still hasn’t come up here.” Get used to it because that’s not happening. “Yeah, he’s pretty private.” Jessa knew me well enough from living together over the years, though we weren’t overly close. It was probably my fault. I was more guarded than most, but the living arrangement worked well for us. Jess knew bits and pieces of my past—enough to paint a picture without giving too many details. And she knew my estranged family had come back into the picture, but I hadn’t told her more because I preferred to pretend that part of my life didn’t exist, Lawrence and Olympus included. “This one isn’t long-term, trust me.” I tossed my clutch on the coffee table and slid off my heels. “How was your evening?” “You’re looking at it.” My shoulders sagged as I sighed deeply. “You lucky whore.” She burst out laughing and threw a pillow at my head. “Hey now, you could have been just as lucky. You chose to go out.” My laughter faded at the thought of just how wrong she was. “I suppose I did.” I unzipped my dress and turned away from my roommate, hoping she didn’t see my face fall. I couldn’t help it. Her words were a reminder of just how little choice I really had. Bemoaning my circumstances only made me hate myself more than I already did. I was to blame for my situation—for everything that had happened—so it was my responsibility to make it right. I had no business complaining. I put on my pajamas and settled into my sewing station near the window. The main living space in our apartment was oversized by city standards, which was good because it served as my bedroom, closet, and office, along with our living, kitchen, and dining rooms. Jessa had a small bedroom and paid a premium share of the rent for that privilege. My futon sofa was all I’d needed when my focus was so absorbed in my design career. “You working tonight?” she asked, clicking off the television. “Yeah, I want to get a little further on this one dress before I call it a night.” Plus, sewing was therapeutic for me. When I cleared my mind to focus on the delicate stitches that went into a designer garment, all my worries evaporated. When I was sewing, I was free, and I needed that right now. “Sounds good. I’m gonna head to bed.” “Night, Jess.” “Night.” I clicked on my task light and let the world fall away. It was a feeling I knew well—my favorite part of every day.